Kathryn Springer - Tested by Fire

“It doesn’t wash, Kelly. You started out fine. The other officers have accepted you.” He looked disappointed. “I can’t let you blame your negligence on someone else. Has anyone in this department said they don’t want you here? Discriminated against you?”

“No.”

“You’ve got two months left on your probation,” Larson said gruffly. “Let’s see some focus, Finn.”

“Yes, sir.”

She walked out of the office and found Carl waiting for her.

“How did it go?”

“He gave me a promotion,” Finn said, but the joke fell flat.

“Seriously.”

“Seriously? I’m in serious danger of losing my job if I don’t focus.”

Carl frowned. “I’ll talk to the chief.”

“No, please don’t, Carl. I can do this.”

“Here, you can start with some follow-ups, then.” He grinned and pushed a stack of paperwork into her hands.

The well-kept, petunia-studded city of Miranda Station boasted a population of ten thousand people, but Finn definitely earned her salary during the day. By the time she came off her shift, she was tired. The next officer on duty dropped her off at home and she walked up the sidewalk, looking forward to having a cool shower and a change of clothes. She remembered that she had asked John Gabriel to go to the range with her. Well, maybe asked wasn’t the right word. She had challenged him. And he hadn’t disappointed her.

She peeled off her uniform shirt and bullet-proof vest and immediately felt ten pounds lighter. The shower revived her body but not her spirits. Finn knew she hadn’t gotten a court notice in her box. Was Gil the person who was against her working there? Dispatch handled all the reports, and he had complained several times that hers weren’t accurate when he checked her numbers against the computer.

She had just changed into blue jeans and a T-shirt when she heard a knock. Her hair was still damp from the shower and she fluffed it with her fingers as she went to answer the door.

“Come in.” Finn stepped back as John’s tall frame filled the narrow foyer. “I’ll be right back.”

John felt like he was in a doll’s house. Or a storybook cottage. Everything around him was bright and feminine. Not frilly. Feminine. The love seat and chairs in the living room were covered in a white-and-blue print and a rolltop writing desk stacked with books took up an entire wall. The hardwood floors were scattered with bright rag rugs, and an oval-shaped breakfast nook held a small oak table scattered with more books. Along the top of the cupboards was a variety of ceramic teapots. Even though she had only been home from work for half an hour, a candle was burning on a small table by the window.

He walked over to blow out the candle and saw an open Bible next to it. It obviously wasn’t a decoration. Some of the verses had been highlighted with a fluorescent pen and bookmarks stuck out everywhere.

Finn emerged from a room down the hall and caught him studying it.

“Part of the Kelly family legacy? A badge and a Bible?”

“No.” She held his gaze. “But it will be.”

“Some people use both of them to hide behind,” John said, watching her expression to gauge her reaction.

“Some people know the difference between finding shelter and hiding. Do you?” Finn tossed something at him and instinctively he reached out and caught it. A key ring. “You can drive.”

They walked in silence to the garage, where two cars were parked side by side. One was a dark-blue import, compact and conservative. The other, a hunter-green Jeep Cherokee. Automatically he walked over to the import—and heard Finn chuckle.

“That’s Chief’s car.”

He raised his eyebrows and regarded her thoughtfully. “My mistake.”

Finn slid into the passenger side of the vehicle and waited. Just as she suspected, John was at home behind the wheel of a car. He turned the key and immediately they were drowned in music as the radio came to life.

Finn nudged the volume button down. “Sorry.”

“A Jeep and loud music,” John muttered. “Are you sure you’re not sixteen?”

She didn’t take offense. “The Jeep was a graduation present from my parents when I got my Criminal Justice degree last year. And the music, well, some things you just never outgrow.”

“Right.” John eased the Jeep out of the driveway. “Where do I go?”

“That way.” Finn pointed left. “The range is about three miles from here.” Finn leaned back and closed her eyes, feeling the tension from the day start to uncurl inside of her.

“Long day?”

She didn’t answer right away. The court notice…

“Well, there was that dog I had to chase for three blocks and the little old lady who wouldn’t let me help her cross the street. Other than that—” Her voice broke off and her eyes snapped open because she heard a strange sound. John Gabriel was laughing. Granted, it sounded a little rusty, but it was laughter.

“The hazards of the job.” He turned a smile on her that transformed his austere features and turned her insides into jelly.

Finn swallowed. “You should do that more often.”

“What?”

“Smile. Laugh. You know—try a variety of facial expressions.”

“Very funny.” John turned his attention back to the road. “Where do we turn?”

“Back there about a quarter of a mile.” She realized that they had passed the road. It was his fault for laughing and causing her to forget her navigational responsibilities.

He turned the Jeep around and headed back. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Two or three times a week,” Finn said absently.

“Is that required by your department?”

“No. We come out as a department about every six months. Dad says I should practice more than that. Most officers never fire their weapons, but you need to be accurate if you ever have to.”

The range was an open field with oak trees bordering the perimeter like silent sentinels. No one was there, and Finn was glad. Now that she had bullied John Gabriel into this, she was having doubts.

“Okay, Annie Oakley.” His voice was so near it startled her. “You first.”

He set up the targets while Finn pushed the clip into her handgun and put on ear protection to muffle the sound.

John watched as Finn stepped up to the line. Everything about her stance and posture was correct. Correct but wooden. For someone who came to the range two or three times a week, she seemed almost uncomfortable with a gun in her hand. The first few shots were close to the center. Then, something happened. Her concentration dissolved. The next few shots were way off. When she finished, her hand fell to her side and her head dipped slightly.

“Hey, where did you go?” he asked sharply, watching as Finn’s head snapped up again and she smiled sheepishly.

“Daydreaming, I guess.”

“Daydreaming?” He repeated the word in disbelief. “If that target decided to shoot back, I’d be picking you up off the grass.”

“Your turn.” Finn stepped back and looked away from him. She couldn’t explain what had just happened, other than the fact that Jerome Lessing’s face had suddenly loomed in her thoughts. He was free and it was her fault. Or was it?

Gunfire brought her back to reality, and she watched as John pounded six bullets directly into the center of the target.

John glanced at her, expecting to see amazement or disbelief or any of the other expressions that people had when a one-armed man actually achieved something. Instead, she was looking at him proudly. Knowingly. The admiration on her face shook him to the core, momentarily shattering the wall he had so painstakingly built over the years. Then he knew. When she had invited him to come to the range—when she had casually tossed her car keys to him—she was telling him she saw a man. Not a one-armed man. Not a man with a scar that disfigured part of his face, and had, as some people assumed, seared his brain in the process. But a man.